


Three Cups of Ale

by marreena



Series: non omnis moriar [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Food Sex, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Roleplay, but with like alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5935627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marreena/pseuds/marreena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor had asked Iron Bull once what his ideal fantasy would be: her as a tavern girl with a corset so tight that her tits were almost falling out and serving him her panties on a platter. </p><p>She took note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> post inquisition but pre trespasser

The barmaid across the tavern keeps glancing at him. 

It’s not with the usual glances of the fact that he was a qunari and that most humans go their whole life without seeing an actual one much less speak to one. No, she looks at him differently, much softer than the ones who look at him like a toy to fuck or a threat to their humanity. She looks at him like a child looks at their crush. 

It’s refreshing and a chance that Bull cannot pass up. 

He raises his hand up and catches the attention of most of the occupants in the tavern and most importantly the girl’s. She finishes serving the table that she’s at—the men at the table flirt with her and send her their best suggestive smirks, she simply laughs and blushes in return but does not show any interest—and makes her way to Bull. 

She’s got a sway in her step that’s been perfected for this and a couple of empty tankards in the crook of her arms and a smile that’s highlighted by rosy cheeks. He figures it’s equally from hot and crowded room as it’s from the couple sips of liquor she takes during the night. With her free hand she tucks her curled hair behind her ear and her hand hangs a moment as if she’s stuck in thought now that she’s finally in front of him. She’s finally in front of the man that’s divided her attention for most of the night and she’s not sure what to do, how to proceed. 

He waits for her to make the next move. 

She nods as if she _understands_  and smiles, “What can I get you, ser?”

He’s a bit shocked when she calls him that—most barely treat him as a person, much less treat him with respect—and grins, “Your name.” He settles on that as an answer as he wants to see her sputter and blush. 

Her laughs is as soft as the lighting in the room and compliments her overall appearance of so damn pretty—but she does not sputter. "You have to buy three drinks before that," she replies so smoothly that Bull realizes he evaluated her wrong. She's a barmaid in a tavern and has a slick tongue to match. 

He grins and settles forward on the table, resting on his arms, "Give me the biggest tankard you got and pour three drinks in it."

She nods as if that isn't that odd of a request, "Anything else, ser?" She says it simply but Bull wishes she had said the phrase with a purr, a blush, and on her knees with swollen lips. 

There's a lot of things that he wants and needs but right now he wants to play this game of cat and mouse. "Not at the moment," he replies and tilts his head to the side. With most it would draw their attention to his horns but she's entirely too distracted with his lips and fingers to notice. _Good_.

She nods once more and disappears into the back of the tavern. He knows what he's going to see when he looks over his shoulder at the Chargers—Krem is giving him a disapproving look and everyone else is snickering at him—so he keeps his eyes trained on the barmaid’s ass as she walks away. Another table flags her down and she easily makes her way to the diversion, which doesn’t settle well in Bull’s gut. The table’s been one of the rowdiest in the tavern and he’s seen them reach for the other girls. 

He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can see how she’s reacting. Completely polite and respectful at first, perhaps even a bit flirty, but it shifts into something else, _disgust_ , and she glances at Bull from across the room. 

There’s only so many things that they can be saying to her about Bull and all of them make him want to get up from his chair and start something, but that will only make the barmaid upset. She spits something out and he wishes he could hear the acid in her voice as he can see the small bit of teeth that she’s showing them and he wants to know what’s accompanying it. The men sputter something out and she raises a brow at them. _Not good enough_ , Bull chuckles into his old drink. Finally, she turns on her heel to hopefully get his drink and return. She’s not fast enough, though, and one slaps her ass on her way out and her steps don’t even stutter at that. 

Bull fumes, but he does so silently as to not cause anymore trouble for the girl. He’d hate for her to lose her job because of him causing a fight over her. Krem’s watching him now, waiting for a signal if he wants Bull to do anything, but Bull just rolls his shoulder to dismiss him. Maybe later he would let the Chargers get a good fight going. Of course, that’d only be when Bull has the barmaid up in one of their rooms and that damned half corset that clenches her waist perfectly on the floor and his face planted in her chest. 

He gets lost in the daydream that when she sets his overly large tankard in front of him, he jumps a bit, and that definitely has to be three drinks. “So your name?” he tries again after taking a large gulp. 

She crosses her arms—her chest pops out at that and strains against the ties on her dress—and leans slightly against the table. Her mood has obviously soured a bit but she’s trying her damned hardest not to let it influence her interactions with him. She smiles at him, “Trev,” she answers. He figures it’s probably not her real name but he couldn’t care less as long as he has something to call her. 

“Trev,” he tries on his tongue and enjoys how it rolls over his tongue and he can see himself saying that name over and over again later— _soon._ There’s a pause as they both wait, they both just look at each other—she’s so pretty that Bull feels like he might need to have a painting commissioned for her later. Dark, golden skin and sharp eyes and a body that he wants to just run his lips and fingers over it in an attempt to memorize her and whatever else is hidden underneath her dress.

“You’re not going to ask my name?” he finally moves on after figuring if he wanted to run his lips on her cleavage or kiss her senseless first. 

Trev’s laugh is light and she brings up a hand to cover it anyway, “I know who you are.” 

He raises a brow at that and tries not to deflate too much, “And?"

“You’re _the_  Iron Bull. You were with the Inquisition,” and her eyes sparkle just a little bit as she looks at him and he wishes she didn’t know that. It’d be easier, it’d feel better if she didn’t know that. “I don’t need your name,” she finishes and there’s a hint at the end of that slips off of her tongue and makes his curl. 

“Then what do you need?” he asks and leans forward as he takes her bait. 

Her mouth opens to answer and she pauses and in that pause Bull can see that she’s starving. He’s far too engrossed in her to turn away now. Her eyelashes lower as she looks at him and he suddenly feels as though he’s on his knees in front of her, ready to serve, “It’s not about what I need. It’s about what I _want_.”

His mouth drops open and he thinks that he might just drag her back to his room right now if not for how she turns to serve a table. The innocence that he had labeled her with initially is all gone and left in it’s place is pure desire. Suddenly, the blush on her cheeks that came from flirtations is now from an unbidden lust and arousal that colors her cheeks and darkens her eyes. 

He watches Trev as she flirts around the room, popping her hip out when she knows she’s in his line of sight. He drinks it all up and soon he notices that his tankard is gone about at the same moment he notices that her dress has been pulled down to reveal more of her chest. 

He raises his hand when she glances at him again and she makes her way over and he can see that the other barmaids have started to take notice of it, but they say nothing and probably won’t say anything unless it becomes a problem. He judges too soon, though, as one intercepts her and pulls her down to whisper in her ear—and Bull had not realized before but Trev was _tall_  and coming from him that meant something. 

He can barely tell in the warm and dull light of the tavern but Trev’s cheeks turn rosier and she nods back to the other barmaid as she most likely gets scolded. She apologizes and bows her head a bit as she makes her way back to Bull, a small note of shame coloring her quick steps. “Can I get you anything, ser?” 

All familiarity is lost in just that and he cover his frown with his fist as he thinks of what move to make next. “You got any questions about the Inquisition?” he offers, and she cocks her head at that, lost. 

“Well, of course I do, but I have to take your order, ser.” 

“How about this, you ask your questions and then you can fill this cup with your most expensive shit,” he offers and tries to coax her back to him. 

The spark returns. 

She grins and then rubs at her face as if to wipe something off, “What is the Herald like?"

It’s an obvious question and it brings a smile to his in spite of himself, “Beautiful, charming, too quick with her tongue for her own good.” He pauses for a moment and watches the wonder flash across her face, the admiration. A fantasy plays behind her eyes and Bull would do anything for her to keep it alive. “The best damn boss I’d ever had,” he finishes and takes a sip from his cup.

She cocks her head and her brows pinch together, “ _Had_? Do you not work for her anymore?” 

He shrugs, “She doesn’t really need a bodyguard now is what she told me. That was,” he sighs and thinks back on the last time he saw the Herald, “fivemonths ago?” 

Her eyes droop down and for the first time tonight he can tell that she’s not just looking at him but _at him_ , “What a waste,” she hums. 

He hums back in agreement and he can think of other things that could go to waste tonight and he’s definitely not going to let that happen. Her full lips suddenly spread into a smile, “I’m guessing that means you can’t introduce us.” 

He laughs at that, “Not unless we make a deal.” 

A small curl comes untucked from behind her ear when she tilts her head in question, “What kind of deal, Iron Bull?” 

He’s made his mind and ignores all of the thoughts in his head that tell him not to and curls his hand around her arm and pull her down to whisper in her ear. Her hair tickles against his lips and the smell that practically comes off of her in waves it’s spice, rum, a soft hint of cream, and an even softer tang that makes his mouth water. He waits for the hitch in her breath to match the jump of her heart and whispers into her ear, “You give me your panties."

She jerks back as if the words burn her ears, as if he shouted them. The blush on her face overwhelms anything else and Bull thinks he went too far on that and has lost her. She nods mechanically with his tankard still in her hand and swiftly walks away, ignoring all the tables that call out to her. 

Krem’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes, “You fucked up that one, chief.” 

He grunts and tries to shake off his hand but only gets an elbow in return, “Let me sulk in peace, Krem. She was cute,” and she was probably a good fuck too. He groans and throws his head back as he tries to get the images of Trev out of his head, of her on her knees, of _him_  on his knees. 

It was going to take him a couple more drinks to get her out of his head, but more than likely he’s going to be kicked out for harassing a barmaid. He should just leave on his own so the Chargers don’t get kicked too. 

The scent of spice and rum catches his nose as he feels someone move quickly in front of him and then away. “You gotta be fucking with me,” Krem takes in a deep breath. 

Slowly, Bull opens his eye and looks at his full tankard on the table with a little bow tied on the handle— _oh_.

“Holy shit,” he gapes and nearly grabs the drink but first touches the fabric tied on the handle. He runs his fingers over the delicate lace, the _wet_  lace. Krem thankfully takes a step back away from him as the arousal hits Bull full force and he can’t take this whole game anymore. He thought he was just playing with her, but that was not the case at all, she was playing back just as hard. If Bull wasn’t embarrassingly hard in his pants right now he would get and grab Trev and drag her back to his room, but nonetheless unless he wants the entire tavern to see a fully erect qunari cock, he decides to wait. 

He takes a sip of his drink, and by some miracle, he can smell the arousal on her underwear over the taste of the ale. He wants to coat his tongue in the bitter tang, and he wants to taste it from the source. He catches sight of her across the tavern, she’s speaking to another barmaid with a bunch of empty tankards in her hands. She’s animated and smiling and blushing and all things absolutely delicious that Bull wants, and all Bull can think about is how she is bare underneath her dress and dripping down her thighs right now.

Trev’s lips curl into something absolutely devious as she makes eye contact with him and tips her head towards the back of tavern where the rooms are located— _follow me_. 

Even if he wanted not to expose himself to the entire tavern, he can’t help but rise at her call. He knows that Krem and the Chargers won’t let him live this down ever, but he still walks through the tavern with heavily tented pants and his tankard following behind her disappearing figure. 

Trev waits for him at the door of his room, arms empty. Even after all of her flirtations, she still seems nervous about the whole affair, and Bull wants nothing more than to help her relax. Her light eyes flick up when he steps in front of her and there’s an anxious smile coloring her face as they both just stare at each other—and _damn_  is she pretty. 

“What can I get you, ser?” 

With that, Bull pushes her into the room and finally presses his mouth to hers and finally gets a taste of her. It entirely tastes of the liquor that they’ve been drinking tonight and that is not what Bull wants, so he ducks his head to taste the skin underneath her jaw. There he tastes the sweat and _her_. 

Her hands hesitate between them, she’s not sure where she can touch him, until they finally settle on his chest and curl in his harness. He grins against her neck and takes one more nip. “You can grab the horns, you know,” he whispers into her ear and tugs at her lobe. 

She gasps and melts against him once one of her hands reaches up and curls around his horn. Trev pulls him against her chest and he obliges and bites marks right on her collarbone where she’s most sensitive. “Iron Bull,” she moans as one of his hands slowly trail up her body to the ties on the front of her dress. Every time that his hand catches on her, her breath hitches and a moan spills from her lips, and when his fingers touch her bare skin it’s like he burns her as her nails dig grooves into his chest. 

He growls and pulls the ties of her shirt, after that the top of her dress just slides down her arms and her breasts are revealed. They’re even better than Bull imagined and with his thumb he rubs circles into her dark nipple, enticing it to harden. It draws out a loud, drawn out moan and she pulls her hand back from his harness to bite her hand. He just watches her whine and squirm underneath his insistent touch and holds her tight against him. No doubt she can feel his hardness right against her stomach, but she doesn’t move to tease him and rub against him, she just stays still and shakes as he digs his fingernail into her nipple. 

“Trev,” he calls to her. 

Reluctantly, she opens her eyes to look at him. “Watch me,” he commands and waits for her to nod back. He dips down to swirl his tongue around her nipple as he teases the other between his thumb and finger. She shudders but keeps eye contact with him, her mouth falling open just a bit as her hand drops to his horn. He can dully feel her hand curling around the horn and the nails slowly scraping it as he catches the nub— _shit_ are her nipples perfect, nice and dusky on her large breasts. He wants to keep just teasing her like this, sucking on her tits until she’s begging for his hand or more between her thighs, but instead, he trails down her body, placing soft kisses and keeping eye contact. 

When he raises her dress up and just holds it for a second she looks confused until she realizes what he wants and grabs the skirt, clutching it against herself so she can still see him. She can see him as he dips forward and runs his tongue along her slit as though not to open her up but just to get a taste of her. The taste matches the smell of her panties from earlier, a definite tang and bite of bitterness but more intoxicating than anything he drank that night. Her arousal is completely slick and has probably been like that the most of the night. She’s open and ready to be fucked nice and deep. 

The muscles in Trev’s leg jump when he rests his hand on her calf and slowly slide it up her leg—she’s surprisingly muscled for a barmaid but Bull won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe later after he’s fucked her into the bed and she’s screamed till the only thing that she can think of is the ache and pleasure between her legs. Her thighs tense under the callousedpads of his hand, and they catch on her softer skin there. If he thought they caught on that skin on her thigh they catch even more so on the skin in between her legs. With one finger, he rubs her slit and barely opens her, just enough to feel the heat, and runs his finger along her until she’s whimpering. Her clit is so swollen that it’s nearly exposed and on each pass he just barely grazes it with his finger. She keens at that and her back arches still she’s standing on her toes and pressing herself against his face—whether she’s aware that she’s doing this or not is something Bull is not quite aware of.

He forgives her for breaking eye contact, or rather, he forgets to punish her.

The smell of her entices him to press his entire mouth to her and spread her with his tongue. She coats him with her arousal as it’s practically dripping out of her now, and her moans burn through the otherwise quiet room in the tavern that only has the hum of the other rooms as background noise. “Iron Bull,” she gasps as his tongue seeks out specifically her clit and circles around it but never touches it directly. Just a press of his tongue to right below her clit has her shaking and tugging at his horns for _more_. 

He pulls away and her knees give away. 

The denial of an orgasm saps all of her finesse away as she presses desperate kisses to his mouth. Now their kisses don’t just taste of liquor, but also of her overwhelming taste, and Bull wouldn’t want the kiss to taste like anything else—perhaps besides cocoa. She presses her body to his with each kiss and even if he doesn’t respond as fast she gives him another kiss that steals his breath away. She is _good_ , and Bull feels like he’s kissed enough people to be able to say that confidently. Surprisingly, she doesn’t feel awkward against him as most do. He’s large and got horns and generally people can’t figure it out right away, but as she rolls her hips in his lap against his cock and pulls him by the horn into kisses that leave him moaning in between, he feels anything but awkward or hesitant. 

With both of his hands underneath her ass, he scopes her up off the ground with him. She yelps and pulls away causing for her lip to get split—it was caught in between his teeth. There’s a small bit of blood but she licks it away and he’s certain it’s not really that much of an issue anyway. “What?” she questions breathlessly before he less than gracefully throws her on the bed. Earlier in the night he felt as though he’s never been harder, and now after having Trev rub off against him he feels as though he’s going to burst if he can’t come soon—preferably on her, inside of her, just with _her_.

She falls back on her elbows with her legs splayed and flutters her eyelashes a bit at him although he thinks it’s not entirely intentional this time.  He quickly undoes his brace and then slowly works on his pants for her sake. She reaches to start taking off her dress and her corset but he makes a noise in the back of his throat, “Keep ‘em on.” 

She goes wide-eyed but nods and just continues watching her little show, leaning back with both of her breasts out of her dress. Each sound of his clothing rustling and undoing draws her closer and closer; she wants to see him naked. She wants to know what he looks like. It isn’t a let down by the way that her jaw drops at the same time as his pants. He kicks them off the rest of the way and just stands there for a second and lets her take him in for all the muscled, scarred, gray skin that he is. 

She slowly leans forward as if to give him time to stop her and gently places a hand on his hip and strokes the dip there. Her eyes are lidded as she gets closer and closer to where Bull needs her, where Bull is red and swollen. She’s tentative and uses her smaller hands—and he briefly realizes that her leather glove on her left hand is still on, but he’s too lost to make her take it off now—to stroke him a couple of times, getting a feel for him before she leans forward and licks at his head. It’s all too quick for his taste but damn does it feel good as she kisses his length. 

Trev just runs her lips over his length and her eyes are closed as she’s overwhelmed with the smell and taste of him. He strokes her jaw and slowly does she pull away and look up at him with swollen lips and glazed eyes. “You look good like this,” he tells her and traces her bottom lip with thumb, enjoying how the soft skin drags against his rough thumb. 

“I aim to please,” she tells him and bites at his thumb before opening her mouth all the way—an invitation.

And he takes it, slowly guiding him into her mouth, and that is a sight that Bull wants to commit to memory. Trev with her lips stretched thin around his cock and absolutely loving it. He shallowly rocks back and forth against her tongue that doesn’t make small movements anymore but strokes his cock languidly as it presses deep against the back of her throat. One hand remains on his cock, stroking the part that doesn’t fit in her mouth and the other gently caresses his stomach and the dip of his hip and the scars that lie there. 

“You look so good like this,” he moans and strokes a hand through her golden hair and then tugs on it forcing himself more down her throat. She moans at that, turned on by getting fucked, and her eyes flutter shut. Her teeth catch him on accident and he jerks into her mouth, gasping and spilling a bit into her mouth. 

He pulls back and she tries to follow but he keeps her firm in place with his hand. Her eyes flick up at him and she pulls against his hold. He acquiesces and lets her fit her mouth around the head of his cock and just _sucks._ It’s all soft and velvet and tight around him and he has to hold himself back from coming right there.

Right then, he thinks on it, though, and realizes he doesn’t _need_ to hold back. He can definitely get himself back up again before the night is up to fuck her.

All it takes is her lips going tight around him one last time and he spills into her mouth. Her eyes widen and she jerks back after the first burst, catching the next splash of cum on her face and full lips. And _fuck_ , does she look good like that. Bull just takes a moment to take in the sight of her covered in him. 

“Damn,” he murmurs and untangles his hand from her curls to trace the soft lines of her face till he catches a line of his cum right at the corner of her mouth. He gently presses that finger into her mouth where her tongue cleans him.

When it pops out, she smiles shyly up at him, “Yeah?” she asks.

Bull’s laugh is hearty and so full and he dips down to press his mouth against hers. Almost immediately she opens for him and he slips his tongue in just to taste himself and still a small hint of liquor. He chuckles and gives her a bit of a nudge. She quickly catches on and moves back on the bed until they are both nearly at the headboard. 

He towers over her on the bed and sits back on her thighs, considering what to do next. She props herself up on her elbows and just stares at him with pupils blown wide and swollen lips. He can already feel himself nearly fully hard again and she is certainly ready to go again. “Get on your hands and knees,” he commands and gets off of her. 

She is quick to obey and gets on her hands and knees. His mouth waters at what she would look like without her huge dress still on, at what her ass would look like on display for him. Unfortunately, she’s still dressed, as he has plans for her clothing other than just taking them off. He presses a hand in between her shoulders and pushes her so that she’s face is in the pillows and there’s alluring arch to her back as he follows it with his hand till it rests on the curve of her ass. 

He lets his hands mold to the ample muscle—not as pliant as he expected it to be—and squeezes and kneads. It draws out a moan from her lips and she throws her head against the pillow. “Please,” she gasps out and clutches tightly to the pillows when his finger so lightly skates over core. He presses in just a bit more and she _keens._ The heat from her is warming up the fabric and he can feel it start to dampen, so he teases down just a bit lower. Friction from the fabric against her clit nearly sends her over the edge immediately, but he draws back his touch. 

She whines and tries to press back to get him to touch her again. Instead, he leans forward to take both of her hands into his own and twists them behind her. She doesn’t protest against that—she stills and waits to see what he’s planning. 

Her breath hitches when he undoes the bottom lace on her corset that had been hastily done in an uneven bow—a bow that she had unconsciously tugged at and played with the entire night. When he first saw it, he knew what he was going to do with it. Carefully, he pulls her hands on her back as if he were to detain her and ties the laces around her wrists. He’s attentive when he’s tying them because if she starts to struggle and pull too hard these ties are thin enough that they will cut her.

She tests the binds once and a shudder racks though her entire body, “Please, Iron Bull,” she begs.

He slowly rolls the skirt of her dress up until she’s revealed and puts the skirt in her hands, “Hold this.” 

She tries to peak over her shoulder to watch him, and he can only imagine what he must look like to her: probably the largest man she ever saw, looming over her, about to fuck her, and she is _excited_.

Bull doesn’t want to let her down. 

He doesn’t tease her this time, he presses one long finger into her and doesn’t stop pressing until he is all the way in. A breathless gasp is barely muffled by the pillow that Trev is pressing her face into—she couldn’t keep looking at him, keep eye contact with him when he’s doing this. He thinks that if his finger was just a bit longer than maybe he could fill all of her with just his finger; he’s certain that if he presses in just a bit more, pushes her just a bit more that he could feel her end. 

So he does. He pulls his finger out and then presses all the way back in until the velvet of her walls stretch around him and end. She _screams_  as he crooks his finger and stimulates every single part of her. Each knuckle and every single rough patch on his finger causes another rush of pleasure to shoot up through her and coil into a pressure in her stomach.

Even without him working too much, she’s already close to her finish. After teasing each other through out the tavern and then him bringing her near the edge with his mouth earlier and then pleasing him, she’s pulsing with how badly she needs to come.

“Please, I need to come, serah,” she shudder as he turns his finger and presses his knuckle against that one part within her. 

He pulls his finger out and the sound that gets dragged from her throat is absolutely delicious—although, he doesn’t know what sound he likes more, the guttural moan or the pop from his finger leaving. 

Her cunt is practically shining in the lowlight of his tavern room because of how soaked she is. “Fuck,” he mutters when he notices that she’s _dripping_  she’s so wet. 

At that, he loses a bit of ground, he’s too fucking hard to tease anymore. He wants to come _in_  her now, he wants to claim her, he wants her to smell like him. There’s a possessive curl in his chest that makes him lean down and bite her shoulder hard enough to break the skin. She gasps out at that and turns her head to look at him. Her eyes are wild with lust and need in that moment. “Bull,” she whispers and strains to press her lips against his.

There’s something that burns deep in him when he looks at her and for the first time in the night, he acquiesces and presses a soft kiss to her lips unlike the heat and tension that’s in between them. “How will you serve me, Trev?” 

“You can fuck me, serah.”  

Bull takes one last look at her damp eyelashes and swollen lips, and his gaze travels down her body as he settles back on his knees—from her long neck that’s revealed because her hair has fallen to the side and then exposed muscled shoulders and the skin that disappears underneath her dress. Her cinched waist that looks impossibly tiny and then her bound hands that are curled into her skirt. 

His gaze settles on the best thing for last—her round bottom and glistening sex that’s just begging to be fucked. He presses just the head into her velvet heat that slowly consumes everything he is, and when he’s all the way in, he can barely bring himself to breathe. He feels like each breath wracks his chest, and she is just so _tight_. 

Pulling out of her and then thrusting back in sends sparks up his spine, and he grips her hips to bring him back against him even harder. If he thought that his finger filled her up so much, his cock fills her up even better. Every ridge in her catches on him and  her cries fill his ears. It’s almost embarrassing how close he already is, and so he decides to make it as best for her as he can because this is not going to last long.

He tucks a hand in between them and seeks out her swollen clit. Gently, he pulls back the hood of her clit and lightly strokes it directly as he continues fucking into her, and she _jolts_  and _screams_. He uses his other finger to also massage the area right below her clit and that’s enough to set her off. She clenches so hard around him that Bull thinks he might not be able to pull out and thrust back in, but there’s nothing in the world that could stop him from fucking her until he’s finished. 

“Iron Bull,” she cries out in between her rolling moans. “I— _ah_!” she gets cut off pinches her clit and rolls it between his fingers. She comes undone again and her entire body jerks and tries to ride out the orgasm. After each orgasm, he gives her no down time to settle down so her body is shaking and she can’t get a handle on her breathing—she sounds like she’s about to _break_. 

“Trev,” he whispers into her ear when he leans down over her, continuing to fuck her hard. When she makes a low whine in the back of her throat in response, he brushes his lips against his earlier mark.“You asked me about the Herald of Andraste?"

A crinkle appears in her brow, not sure where this is going, “Iron Bull— _ah!_ ” 

“She’s my lover,” he tells her like it’s the dirtiest secret, and it _is_. 

“I’m cheating on Andraste’s Chosen for _you_.” 

A shudder runs down her back at that and he’s certain it’s not all in pleasure. The realization of what’s going on, who he is, what _this_  is finally weighs down on her and like the sick barmaid she is, she _gets off_ on it. 

All it takes is her to clench around him one last time as he hits her all the way in and he’s lost. His vision goes white and he can’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears for a good moment until everything fades and all he can see, smell, and hear is her. 

Even though he had stopped, she continues thrusting back on him to milk the last of his orgasm and build herself up to her final finish. Pressing one single finger in besides his cock to press up against her sensitive spot and using his thumb to rub over her clit is enough. She cries out his name one last time. 

Bull doesn’t pull out and just stays in her, letting them both catch their breath. His head and heart swarm with heat and affection and he slowly unties her hands and the rest of her corset. It’s a hassle trying to get her undressed but they manage it and she falls on her back, a stupid grin plastered on her face. She reaches out with both of her hands and Bull obliges, falling into her and embraces her. 

“Kadan,” he murmurs into her hair the word that he had been holding back the entire night. The word that he’s been dying to say for months now, that’s curled and held on his tongue like a nail.

She chuckles against him and nuzzles back, “I love you.”

Underneath him, she freezes and he can feel her shifting in her skin, “Bull, uh, I don’t…” she rambles off and has good reason to be unsure of what’s next. They have, after all, been broken up for over five months.

She broke up with him, he _should_  be cautious about what happens next but all he can think about is that she is in his arms again. It feels like part of him is finally back, and he could care less about the logistics of the whole situation. He presses a kiss to her temple, “Sh, Kadan. We can talk later."

She hums, “We won’t be talking if you don’t get off of me. You’re crushing me.” 

“Am not.” 

“Bull, I’m _dying_.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave next time—gotta make sure you won’t leave,” he grumbles in her ear, and he definitely sounds bitter, so he ducks down to mouth at her jaw and neck—yeah like that will appease her after what he just said—heat settles in the pit of his stomach when he realizes she still _smells_ of him. 

The pinch on his hip that was dangerously near his groin causes him to jolt and nearly hit Ariala in the face with his horn, but he catches himself. He pulls back to observe the sour look on her face and crooked frown, “I thought we weren’t talking about this.” 

He rocks his hips against her thigh because he’s getting hard against from just looking at her. “Consider it pillow talk,” he offers and presses his forehead against hers. 

The rumble of a laugh in her chest would have been lost if not for him pressing up against her, “You’ve gotten worse at that.” 

There’s a small moment of silence, but as usual, she’s not one to keep it going for long, “Nice low blow at the end,” she grumbles. 

Bull grins, he instantly knows what she’s talking about, “Wanted to see if you’d be able to keep the fantasy going even when I was cheating on you.” 

“Mm, yeah, I was more pissed than aroused.” 

“You were _coming_.” 

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t pissed.” 

“You started it—asking me about the Herald.” 

“Yeah, sorry, didn’t give you much room to role play.” 

“It’s fine—you were a good blushing barmaid.” 

He snakes an arm around her waist and flips them quickly so that she’s on top. He aches with how sweet her smile is and how she presses small pecks to his chest. “Kadan,” he murmurs reverently and runs a hand through her hair, cupping her face that even after only five months is different, and he wonders what else did he miss. 

She presses a kiss to his palm, “I think you cost me my job.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She really should be on her way to Starkhaven to meet with her fiance, but honestly, she would much rather stay in this tavern and drown her sorrows to a bard's song.
> 
> Of course, the Iron Bull also staying at the tavern has nothing to do with such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give me slight sub bull or give me death

Even after two years, her eyes still stray right to the man who walks through the tavern doors. 

Well, it’s actually quite hard for anyone’s eyes not to stray to him as he nearly takes out the door frame with his horns, and she can’t help the smile that appears on her face. It’s been two years but she can still remember the few nights that they spent together never leaving the bed—actually if she thinks on it they did leave the bed for the wall, the desk, the floor.

If she starts thinking on the whole affair, she could even feel his hands ghosting over her body.

She takes a drink of her wine to try and drown out the other taste that somehow she could imagine on her tongue. 

Trevelyan knows that Iron Bull’s probably already spotted her in the back of the tavern attempting to hide away.

There’s really no way she can avoid this.

She takes another sip of her wine—spiced like she prefers, but also _Fereldan_ , which she does not—and hears his steps as he approaches her. They’re quick, and perhaps he’s just a bit excited about seeing her again, but she’s only guessing. She doesn’t give him the pleasure of looking up because in all honestly she’s just a bit embarrassed. For being locked up in a room together and becoming intimately acquaintanced with every single part of each other’s body for an entire weekend, she entirely planned to not ever meet with him again. 

Especially not now when she’s writing a letter to _her fiancé._  


There’s irony dripping into her wine causing it to taste even more bitter than usual and she tries not to think too hard about the whole situation because that situation is not going to happen. She won’t let it happen even though the Iron Bull slips into the chair next to her and gently rests his shoulder against hers. Even that is enough to get her anxious but she hides it well, much better than two years ago. 

Finally, her eyes slip to him and take in the hulking mass that the qunari is, and of course, even after two years he is still not wearing a shirt. “Iron Bull,” she nods and tries to continue writing her letter. 

“That it?"

“What you expected after two years for me to run to the nearest room and strip?” 

“It’d be nice."

She laughs and finally leans back in her chair to look at him and graciously takes him all in. Just as scarred—maybe more but she honestly can’t tell—and somehow _bigger,_  but his smile is softer than she remember. It makes her wonder if she had more of an effect on him than she remembered. 

  
_Oh, Maker_. She presses her thighs together and hopes that he can’t tell from underneath her dress. Trevelyan is getting all hot and bothered. 

She has a letter to write, though. A very important letter. 

She coughs and tries not to take anymore in—his shoulders, the dips of his muscle, the line of his jaw, and the curl of his lips—before shifting in her seat to reduce the contact and look at the letter that isn’t even near finished. She used to be good at this sort of thing, _wooing_  but now all of her words fall flat on her own ears and reek of desperation and indifference. Honestly, she should not have listened to her mother and moved up the wedding. 

Bull’s sudden appearance does not have anything to do with her apprehension of her fiancé. She’s always been unsure of the whole thing. He’s a fine man, Trevelyan is just not ready for commitment and the next part of her life. 

Of course, Bull’s hot body next to hers does have something to do with her sudden wavering fidelity.

She carefully reaches for the quill—not her drink—and starts writing: _to think Starkhaven will soon be my home permanently—_  


“Oh fuck,” she swears realizing that she already used that line just a paragraph before. Maybe writing in a tavern, _drinking_ , was a poor idea, but she was craving to hear the song of anyone and the bard here is just subpar and exactly what she needed. 

Iron Bull’s body shakes with a silent laugh and he leans, creating that touch again. “Whatchya writing?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” she mutters and desperately looks at the now ruined sheet of paper that she spent an embarrassing long time writing.

“That’s why I asked,” he states. letting his knee bump into hers. 

Every part of her stands up on edge, but she doesn’t move away from his touch. “Oh,” she lets out in a gasp without thinking, and without even more thinking she quickly crumbles the paper under palm. There’s a satisfying  _crunch_  from the dried ink and letter card, but not as loud as the cracking noise her heart nearly makes when she realizes what she’s done. “ _Oh_ ,” she lets out again.

“Taxes?” he guesses and slyly nudges her drink closer to her hand.

She forfeits and takes a huge gulp of the drink, letting it not sit right in her mouth and burn more than just her throat. Trevelyan desperately wants to cough it back up, but in a last ditch effort of a hiccup, she keeps the drink down. 

Iron Bull, maybe for her sake, ignores what happened and keeps his focus on her letter, not for her sake. He tries to grab the crumpled paper out from her hand but she elbows him—is it considered elbowing if that’s where her arm stops or just a punch?—surprisingly and causing him to choke on _his_  drink. “A letter,” she corrects.

“Well, _I_ guessed that much,” he huffs.

“Oh then guess from who if you’re on such a roll.” 

Iron Bull shifts in his chair, moving it entirely so that it faces her head on, and like this, she really can’t ignore him. His grin is nearly contagious as he leans forward, “A failed lover,” he pauses for a moment in contemplation, “no, _failing_  lover.” 

She hums and leans forward to match him, “How astute for a mercenary.” 

“ _Leader_ of a mercenary group.” 

“Oh there’s a difference?” 

“Just like there’s a difference between you being the youngest or the oldest—which _you_  are the youngest,” Bull quips back and takes a sip of her drink without even asking. His nose wrinkles, “This is disgusting. Why are you drinking this?” 

Truth is, she’s almost run out of coin. The short trip—it’s honestly not that short but at least she doesn’t have to spend a week on a boat—from Ostwick to Starkhaven has been extended multiple times for inane reasons that she can barely justify, and her coin purse screams at her for it.

For traveling, she always only takes a small amount of coin to keep raiders away, and she uses that fact to justify the fact that she’s almost out of coin. Almost, she can probably afford one more drink tonight. 

  
_Or_  Bull can afford her a couple. 

“I’m running a bit short on coin,” she hums and steals her drink back only to take a swig and confirm that, yes, it is still horrible. 

Bull laughs and his eyes slide from her to her drink. He traces the rim of the drink with his finger, “You know, I think I can put this all together.” She laughs with him and peeks up under her lashes because she bets he can too. “You are avoiding your lover and doing everything to put meeting him off."

“So fucking astute.” She finally looks away from him and does a quick sweep of the room and quirks her brow, “Where’s your mercenary troop?"

That throws him off just a bit, “Uh, not here?” 

“Good, they didn’t like it when we did this last time,” she ends with a little breathless laugh and surges up to meet his lips. They’re rough and chapped and so unlike the lips she’s used to feeling against hers, but the contrast burns something deep inside her. Bull hesitates for a moment, then meets the kiss back with just as much fervor. 

Only one hand is able to reach up and grasp his face this time, and briefly she is thankful that he did not bring _that_  up because she can barely face that herself much less explain it to a bed partner mid-coitus. There is the phantom touch, though—she can _almost_  feel her fingertips and _almost_  feel herself tracing his cheekbone up to his and _almost_ curling around his jaw. 

She jerks back unintentionally. As soon as the phantom limb starts acting up so does the phantom pains that come along with it. The infection that burned up her arm and left her sick for months. How she could barely eat and never slept because of the intense pain that became a constant. Always dull in the back of her mind but intense enough that she couldn’t focus. 

  
_This_  pain creeps up what’s left of the limb and up her shoulder to her collarbone. Remembering the fear of what if the infection spread to a part where she couldn’t just cut off drags her even more away from her current position of leaning over and kissing the Iron Bull, _seducing_  the Iron Bull. Trevelyan’s teeth clench and she hopes that’s enough to stave the worst of it off, but it’s here and probably won’t leave her for a good part of the evening. 

His hand is surprisingly gentle on her shoulder—the one that isn’t throbbing—and he looks sober enough, not wanting to push her. His brow is drawn together and he seems concerned, and Trevelyan feels like an asshole because this whole situation looks bad. Well, it _is_  bad, just not _that_  type of bad. 

“Second thoughts?” he asks and pulls away farther.

She wants to laugh, to giggle and joke, but it’s stuck much deeper in her throat with all the knots of pain twisting it. She does smile, though, and presses her lips to his, closed mouth and uncharacteristically chaste. Under her lips she can feel his smile, and that’s enough to comfort her. She does get her laugh out, albeit a bit strangled and forced, but still there. “Fidelity has never been our strong suit, has it?” she jokes. 

Iron Bull relaxes against her and laughs with her, “I guess we just see eye to eye on that.” 

She resists ducking her head against his chest and acknowledging him for that joke, and instead drops her hand to her chest to chase the scars there. “How about you order three of your favorite drinks and I’ll serve it to you back in my room, just for old times sake?” 

Her head is still ducked down and she looks up at him through her lashes, an old trick that she learned long ago from a friend she hasn’t wrote to in years. A trick that has never failed her and she doubts it will let her down now. 

His entire body _shudders_ , and she nearly laughs but holds onto it for the sake of him throwing a fit if she does. She leans forward and presses one last kiss to his lips, slower than anything they’ve ever shared but still leaving her throbbing in unmentionable places that would make a Chantry sister ashamed. Before he can touch her, she straightens up and leaves him at the table, his eye definitely trained on something that wasn’t revealed before because of her dress. Her rider pants, however, leave no detail hidden. 

A detail she does forget is to tell Iron Bull what room she is staying in, however. She curses the moment her door closes because if she leaves, goes and finds him, well, it wouldn’t be _horrible_ , but the mood they so finely crafted would be lost. The  _mysterieux_ of her final sentence and banter off would all be for nothing.

Fuck, she just wants some dramatic romance in her life. Why was the Maker testing her like this?

She ends up standing in just the doorway for an embarrassing amount of time, contemplating her next step— _find_  or _seduce_. The next step in each— _leave the room_  or _take off clothes_ —both are no-going-back point. She has to commit to one. 

Iron Bull is a Mercenary leader, he’s probably craftier than the average sword hand. He can figure out where she is staying, she has faith in him. 

So, she takes her jacket off. 

Perhaps, she does it a bit too eagerly, she strains the buttons, but she gets it off in record time to make it seem like she did not hesitate, and thank the Maker she did. The moment her hand starts to undo the ties at the top of her blouse, the door nearly bursts open with Bull behind it. He’s a bit dazed and got a myriad of drinks in his hands—an Antivan spice, a Rivaini rum, and something that _she_ can’t identify and she’s _worked_ in a tavern before—and nearly smacks her with the door.

She stumbles back and laughs, “A bit eager, are we?” 

He definitely agrees but doesn’t try to hide it. He throws the bottles on her bed and she waits for the breaking glass, but surprisingly they stay on the bed. “Nice aim,” she almost gets out but he’s scooping her up.

There’s something special about being just getting picked up like that, that does something to her. She does get a laugh out before he presses his lips to her and doesn’t take any of the joy away from the moment. They’re not even focused on taking off clothes, just feeling each other and being reacquainted with each others bodies after two years. 

Three nights had not been long enough the last time they had met. Trevelyan had not been able to run her hands over every part of him, and now, it will take her twice as long to do so. 

She thinks that just maybe, Bull won’t mind that. 

She’s the first one to pull away and she doesn’t waste a beat leaning back down to just run her lips along his jaw. Her lips catch on the stubble that’s growing there and she lets out a moan as she gets closer to his ear, teasing him. Slowly she drags her lips over his ear, all the way to the pointed tip and nips there. He lets out a breath in response and grips her tighter against his chest.

“What do you want to drink?” she whispers into his ear.

He carefully moves to let her down, but she does not relinquish her hold on his waist. They still keep holding onto each other. It’s awfully too familiar for what they are. However, she still keeps her hand on his cheek.

“Fuck yeah,” he pauses for a second to pull her shirt over her head  and press her back against the wall, “you seem different.” 

She laughs and grabs his hand after he drops the fabric to the floor and presses it against her chest. He takes it from there. She moans and presses her chest up against his hands, enjoying how his hands were able to cover her entire breast and roll it. The moan ends with her catching her lip in her teeth and looking up at him, “How so?” she asks, coyly. 

“More mature, not the blushing barmaid.” 

“Two years of, _ah_ , running back to my family and a shitty courtship does that."

“Finally going back to the family duty, _Trevelyan_ ,” he whispers into her ear. 

Her eyes turn steely at that, “ _Huh_?” Her next word is cut off when he starts digging his knuckle into her clit—it’s much too hard but feels much too good for her to care.

“I did some business for your aunt a year ago, and well, you Trevelyans really look alike. It’s not hard to put together."

She huffs against him and feels her cheeks color like she’s a girl getting caught stealing from the cookie jar. Instead of responding to _that_ she grinds down against his hand, “How about I serve you a drink?” 

And it’s not really a question so much as telling him what she’s going to do as she immediately drops her legs from around his waist. Even Bull was not able to catch her—he still did have one hand rubbing her and she is very thankful that he did not try to grab her by _there_ —before she slipped out of his grasp. All it takes is five steps and her shirt and pants are off, leaving her just in smalls and waiting at the bed with her back to him.

It’s a bit hard popping the cork on the bottle with only one hand, but she’s gotten used to it by now and does it with minimal strain. There’s even less strain when she downs a good fifth of the bottle. It turns out that she grabbed the spice and she is barely able to keep it down even after all these years—it literally tasted of rotten spice.

Did he not not even spend two coins on this shit?

“I thought you were serving me,” he laughs and follows behind her. She turns on her heel and plops right down onto the bed, letting the alcohol drag her motions. 

She took another drag and curled her finger prompting him to come to her. She does not bother watching him and lays back against the bed. The chill of the alcohol is shocking on her bare stomach, but she continues pouring until the dip of her stomach is full of the spice—nearly as much spice that is in her stomach right now.

Like a man kneeling for prayer, he falls before her, first sipping at it and then lapping. She keeps her legs closed no matter how much she wishes for his licks to be much lower and _much deeper_ , letting him know that this is the most he gets. His tongue drags, getting the last bit of alcohol and then continues up to her naval, mouthing there. He does not stop, though, and continues up to her chest that is still unfortunately covered with a brazier. 

He pulls away and looks at her, waiting to see the next thing she wants to do. 

She cocks her head at him, _what should I do with you_? 

He tilts his head back,  _anything you wish_. 

She reaches for the rum and holds it for him to pop the cork off of. Keeping her gaze on his, she pours just a bit of the rum on her breast, letting it soak into the fabric, and then repeated on the other side. 

His eye glazes over when he drops the hold to look at her newly soaked brazier—a brazier that is barely more than some flimsy lace things that are not at all suitable for riding, but Trevelyan is anything but practical. 

Also, the flimsy lacy things were supposed to be a gift for her fiancé. 

Originally, she were to arrive in Starkhaven, go to his manor and great him. Before dinner, however, she would tease him, show him what lies underneath her clothes, a treat for later. He would spend the entire dinner with his parents and siblings  hot and bothered, aching and hard. Her hand would squeeze his thigh, going too high and brushing against the tent in his pants. 

He would all but order his family to leave and take her on the table, unable to wait any longer. Worship her like a starving man and she were his first feast to finally have after the winter. 

If anything, her fiancé was a very attentive lover. 

Bull graciously mouths at her breasts before sucking, trying to get the little droplets of rum out of the lace. He laps first, then suckles and her head falls back, her hair cascading over her back. Her mouth drops open and all the noises—groans, moans, and gasps—that form in her throat are freely released  as he nips and _sucks_. 

“Bull,” she gasps as he finally pulls back when the fabric has no alcohol left in it, but now it is soaked from his own ministrations. He spares her one glance before ducking to her other breast. Repeating the same process of suckling and biting and kissing until the fabric is also clean. 

She reaches behind herself and releases the clasps. Bull helps her pull off the soiled piece of lace and takes in the sight of her glistening chest. He patiently waits for her next serving, and she wants to laugh at how obedient and serving he was being. She may have been the serving girl, but he was the one willing to get down on his knees serve her anything she desired. 

Her fingers reach up and trace his lips before tilting his head up so she looks her in the eye. “I’m gonna need your help with the next one,” she drawls, alcohol and lust weighing down her tongue like lead. 

She takes his hand and shows him what she wants, what she needs him to do. She reaches for the final bottle of Maker knows what and uncaps it. The waft from the bottle nearly causes her to throw up it was so strong and _disgusting._ “What is this?” she spits out. 

He grins at her, “A Qunari vitra. I couldn’t pass it up especially when its rare to see it anywhere outside of the North.” 

“There might be a reason for that,” she sneers, but takes a sip beside herself. It tastes more like a deadly poison than actual alcohol. She wishes to just throw it across the room, but the look in Bull’s eye stops her. He desperately wants to taste it. 

He presses her breasts together and she acquiesces to him, and pours just a bit of the vitra down her cleavage to his waiting mouth. He laps at the trail, and the alcohol leaves a delicious cold trail along her skin that causes shivers to wrack down her spine. 

She continues letting him drink like this until he increases his pace and starts kissing up the trail. He knocks the bottle away with his horn, and presses kiss after kiss up her neck.

His lips taste of the disgusting drink, but she does not care as she presses them both up until they’re sitting up and he gathers her in his lap. Her body practically fits to his as they lazily kiss, his tongue stroking hers as a promise of what he could do if she’d only let him. Her body is slick against his and she uses that to rub against him without much friction and he moans into her mouth when she drops her hips to rub against the still concealed part of him. 

She grins against his mouth and bites his lip, “How was your drink, serah?” 

He shudders, “Fine, but I have to admit I’m particularly famished now. Do you have anything to eat?” 

She cackles at that and his hands slide down from her back down to her ass and then thighs. “I might have something, maybe you should let me go check the kitchen.” 

He flips her onto her back. 

He holds her thighs up onto his horns and hoists her into the air. A scream is dragged through her throat when he roughly presses his mouth to her through her lacy panties and _sucks_. He alternates between sucks and languid licks, never giving her a rest. It is truly a test of both her core and his strength for him to keep her up like this. He’s not even pressing anything into her, but she is still soaked and begging for _more, more, more_. 

He presses his teeth against her clit once through the lace and that’s enough to both build the coil and snap it instantly. Her orgasm shakes through her quicker than she can even realize what is happening. She grabs for something, for  _anything_ to hold, but she only finds her own thighs. Her back snaps along with the coil and she arches until only her shoulders are touching the bed. 

She shakes and grinds her hips against his face to get more and more from that quick finish, to draw out the heat that was melting her limbs and sending that warmth through each part of her cracked facade. 

He does not stop, reading that she can take more, that she still _needs_ more from him. She imagines that he much be looking down the taut line of her body in wonder—the muscles of her core, her plump breasts that now shake with every shuddering breath, and her face completely overcame with bliss. She wishes she could look back at him and watch him as he devours her. 

It takes little time for him to bring her over again, but this time it is so much more sweet. The searing heat builds up in her core until it licks down her spine and and limbs teasing every bit of her, and finally the coil tightens until it releases, and like fire following blackpowder pleasure shoots through her body. 

She screams and certainly they must hear her over the bard’s tale, but she also certainly does not care. Iron Bull lays her back on the bed and she gasps to catch her breath but it’s nearly impossible with the pleasure still licking at every part of her. She did not realize but for those last couple seconds until release, she held her breath until she nearly passed out. Her head hurt and her chest burned but it was worth every bit of it. 

Without waiting for herself to recover completely, Ariala shimmies out of her little lace things and let them drop to the floor. She then spreads her legs and displays herself to him. “You’ve ate and drank so much, you should really work that off."

Iron Bull pounces on her. 

He does not give her time to adjust and pounds into her. Her hand clutches at his horn as he bites and kisses her chest—the only thing that is keeping her there and grounding her, not losing herself to the pleasure that drowns out all thought.

Unlike Bull who has completely lost himself.

She grins and uses all of her strength to flip them. Bull whines at the loss but does not protest anymore than that. Instead, his glazed gaze takes her perched over him in, taking in every detail. She bites her bottom lip and also takes him in—the strong chest, his broad shoulders, his jaw, and just _him—_ and grinds down against him in response. “Iron Bull,” she moans and leans down to him. She nips up his chin and he shudders underneath her, his hands caressing every part of her, not able to settle on one part.

“Maybe I should take it from here. It’d be a shame if you got a cramp,” she teases him and wraps her hands around him, giving a couple strokes.

He groans in response, but he is unable to form any more of a response. The alcohol has done its job in subduing him, making him relinquish the delicate yet unyielding control he had last time. She settles back on him, and teases him, rolling her hips over him but never letting him go all the way in. His hands tightened on her thighs, nails digging in, begging for her to continue. 

She cocks her head, a silent, teasing question. 

“Please,” he begs, thrusting up into her.

She answers, sinking down and down and _down_ , taking all of him in. The groan is forced out of both of them as she settles finally. “How will you serve me, Iron Bull?” she teases, dragging her nail over groin and then to his naval, the skin twitching under her touch. 

His eyes shoot open—and perhaps at that moment he realized that his eyes were shut—at the tease of what he had said to her so many years ago. She tilts her head, another question, another prompt, and her hair falls over her shoulder.

“You can fuck me."

Her grin is wicked as she picks her hips up and slams back down on him. She rides him instead of how she should be riding her horse back to Starkhaven. Each snap of his hips up and the roll of her hips down destroys any semblance of reason that she should return back to her fiancé.

She may not know what a future of Iron Bull would look like, but perhaps, she was willing to figure it out. 

Her reckless days were supposed to be over, but _fuck it._  


She could feel him tensing underneath her, his back slowly arching. Finally, release is building up in him—it is in her too, but nothing compared to the fire that he must feel. 

She pauses above him. 

“Kadan, _fuck!_ ” he groans as she slips off of him and just rolls her hips lazily against him. 

“Kadan, huh?” she teases, and she leans up catching his earlobe in between her teeth and tugs. “Thinking of a past lover while you’re with me?” 

He arches underneath her, completely at her mercy, as she kisses his neck. “Iron Bull, _fuck me_.” 

He snaps. 

It is all a blur of fucking at that point. Trevelyan cannot tell which point she ends and Bull begins—every part of her blurs into him. Their moans mix into a melody that only drive them closer and closer to finish. All it takes is her hand slipping between them and rubbing at her clit to send her over and drag Bull with her, his warmth instantly filling her. 

They ride the end out lazily with pleasure licking at every part of them. Ariala cannot support herself anymore and falls on Bull’s chest as they both struggle to catch their breath after such a tryst. 

The smile on her face becomes a permanent fixture as she kisses her way up his chest to his lips, and she briefly wonders if he still is completely bogged down with the alcohol. He meets her kiss, but she can tell that the aftershocks are still rushing through him. 

“Too much teasing?” she asks, her voice lifted with laughter. 

He snorts, “Kadan, what can I say—you learned from the best.” 

She then smacks his chest, “ _You_  broke it, Bull! ' _Oh, Kadan_!'” she imitated his moan. 

“You don’t understand, Kadan. The way your tits were bouncing and your _moans_. I wanted you to never stop even if we both finished.” 

“Good to know,” she hums. “However, you still owe me."

“Good thing we still have booze. I was thinking, _I_ get to wear the corset this time with my tits out.” 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ bioware let bull and the inquisitor bang in rando taverns for the rest of their lives please

**Author's Note:**

> when will i be comfortable publishing stuff that isn't porn??? the world will never know
> 
> also check me out on [tumblr](http://www.marreena.tumblr.com)


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